A portion of an E-mail written by Patrick Martino…

Subject: Update #6 Burma
From: “Patrick Martino”
Date: Wed, 22 Jan 2003 04:40:54 -0500 (EST)

Hello and Merry Christmas and a happy new New Year. I am sorry for the belated holiday greetings. It has been over a month since I last wrote but I recently got back to Bangkok from Myanmar, formerly Burma. Myanmar is run by a military junta who likes to keep its people downtrodden, poor, and uninformed, hence they don’t allow the internet. You can find some places where you can email from but not from your own account and for the princely sum of $1.50 a page. No worries, though, I have kept excellent notes of my travels and have related what I have been up to below.

I have spent the last few days in Bangkok, relaxing and typing up a few of my travel stories. I next plan to head North into Northern Thailand and then on into Laos. It will probably be at least a month from now until you get another large update as I doubt Laos has any email either.

This is another long one so please Dad forgive my errors. If you don’t want to read the whole thing, no problem, I have broken it up into sections. I hope you enjoy.

Kanchanburi-Thailand

Kanchanaburi is located about 80 miles West of Bangkok. It is an unassuming town. It has lots of store fronts and motorscoters just like any Thai town. What attracts tourists to the town, however, is it’s famous bridge. Yes the “Bridge over the river Kwai” is in Kanchanaburi. If you haven’t heard about the bridge I would highly recommend the book by Pierre Boulle or the movie staring Obi-Wan Kenobi, I mean Sir Alec Guinness.

Check out my story further below about the bridge.

Kanchanaburi is very laid back. I enjoyed my stay in a room made of bamboo which was anchored to the shore of the river. It was fun to hang out, read a book, and watch the drab olive green waters of the Khwae Yai roll swiftly past. The tranquility of the river was only disturbed by the occasional passing of a karaoke barge, yes karaoke barges. They are huge floating party platforms pulled by thundering long boats. On board crowds of off key Japanese tourists belt out their favorite tunes. After mosquitoes I can’t imagine anything more annoying than a karaoke barge. I am supremely glad karaoke has yet to catch on in the Sates as it has in Asia.

You have to hand it to the Buddhists for coming up with some pretty cool ideas for some temples. Sure the Catholics have St. Peter’s, the Anglicans West Minster Abbey, Muslim’s Mecca, Jews the wailing wall, and the Mormons that big church in Utah which I forgot the name of but nothing can compare with some of the Buddhist monasteries and temples I have visited. This is just based on the cool factor alone.

There was the monastery of the jumping cats in Inle lake in Burma. People say you can’t teach cats tricks, but these monks must have had lots of time on their hands to teach cats to jump through small hoops two and a half to three feet off the ground. There was the golden rock temple near Kyaiktiyo in Burma, a rock with a pagoda on top completely encrusted in gold leaf hanging over the edge of a cliff which is said to hang precariously over the cliff and be kept there thanks only to the benefit of a hair of the Buddha enshrined within the pagoda. The coolest temple or place of worship I have ever been to, though, was located near Kanchanaburi.

Its called the tiger temple and it is home to not only orange clad monks but eight man sized tigers. The fact the tigers aren’t in cages and you can pet them makes the temple doubly cool.

The Pha Luang Ta temple is kind of an animal sanctuary. On its grounds the bald monks with bare feet and orange robes care for a wide array of animals. WIld pigs, deer, cattle, and peacocks wander about the unfenced grounds where a few scrub trees and green grass grows. The temple and sanctuary smell like a farm with the sweet sick smell of manurer.

The tigers rest and play during the day in what resembles a rock quarry. It was getting toward dusk when I arrived with three of my English friends.The quarry was devoid of any grass or vegetation. It was bare white rock. Dried nullahs where water had eroded away the rock wrinkled the quarry.

A boisterous cheerful old monk with large glasses lead the way. “Come come” he motioned us.

He was as happy as a kid in a candy store, leading yet another group of camera touting farangs(foreingers) to the sophoric beasts he loved.

There were two tigers in the quary, both lethargic, sleepy, and sprawled upon the gravel.

The closest one yawned exposing its teeth, the size of dinasaur claws. It batted its eyes and then let their heavy weight fall again.

The tigers were magnificient with orange coats stripped black. Their whiskers were long, the white yellow of their teeth shocking.

These were not pets. These were not tame animals. These were tigers, predators who could eat me alive. I was either very brave or very stupid, when the eager monk with galsses started encouraging us to pet the tigers and have our pictures taken with them. “Come on come on.” he called waving to us to come forward and sit next to one of the tigers he was gentley stroking.

Our only protection from the tigers were an additional two or three monks who wielded bamboo staffs. Somehow I didn’t think if this cat wanted to harm me a bunch of bald monks better known for meditation and prayer were gogin to be able to save me.

Encouraged by the eager monk with the glasses and following one of the handlers directions to “come around from the side and don’t speak.” I stood on my haunches next to the magnificiant beast. I ran my fingers through his thick fur, and felt his chest as it rose and fell with steady breathes. Wow, is the only word to describe what its like to pet a tiger.

“That is about the most extrodinary thing I have ever done.” remarked one of my English friends after petting the tiger.

My other buddy said “ Add that to a very long list of incredibly stupid things I’ve done in my life.”

I was equally as thrilled and excited as they were. There is absolutely no where in the Untied States, Canada, Eurpoe or the Western world where any zoo or circus is going to let poeple pet a real live tiger . It was incredible. Now I just need to see one in the wild.

The tigers came to the monks and their animal center in 1999. The first tigers came as cubs. Hunters had slaughtered their mother. The cubs were then to be sold to a wealthy Bangkok resident who had ordered the cubs to be stuffed. A local man was ordered to stuff them but he bungled the job. He injected a preservative used to keep biological specimans into the naps of their neck and began to make incessions into the cubs stomachs before they were rescued by some local viallagers. Not knowing what to do with the cubs they brought them to the monks. the monks have been taking care of them since and have gotten a good reputaion for taking care of forlorn tigers. The monks have received six more tigers since the first two cubs, most of them also having been cubs seperated from their mothers, having been wounded by hunters, or illegally kept as pets.

The tigers are far from tame. A woman had her hand mauled by one of the tigers and had to have 28 stitiches after she stuck her hand into one of the tigers cages where they are kept at night and when they aren’t roaming about the gravel quarry.

If you are brave and for a 100 baht donation you too can pet a tiger if you come to Thailland.

While also in Kanchanaburi

I floated down the a river on a bamboo raft, took an elephant ride, and explored one of the the most beautiful waterfalls I have ever seen, Erwan Falls. Here is what I wrote about Erwan falls from my journal

Myanmar (Burma)

After Kanchanaburi I headed back to Bangkok and then took a flight to Yangon in Burma, formerly Rangoon. Flying is the only way to get Yangon.

There are a few legal land crossings for Burma but officials will not allow you to proceed more than a few miles into the country. The reason for this is Burma is pretty messed up. A military junta has controlled most of the country since 1962 but in border regions you have Karen rebels, the Shan army, The Wa army and various other factions and minorities either fighting for their independence or a larger share of the opium trade(Burma is the second largest producer of opium in the world after Afghanistan. Opium is used to produce heroin). It is understandable then the military government in Yangon doesn’t want tourists to see areas where the government might be fighting rebels, growing opium, or forcing the local population to build government related projects.

The government doesn’t want to scare tourists away. They need tourists who bring hard currency. With hard currency the military generals can then buy fighter jets as well as launder their profits from the poppy fields.

Not to worry mom and Dad I didn’t see any drug lords, poppy fields, or rebel soldiers. The government controlled areas are extremely safe clean and a tourists dream.

Imagine a land virtually isolated from the world. Imagine entering a time warp to find a country where children still play marbles and fly paper kites. Imagine trekking in the countryside and find tribesman who still make everything from their houses to hats from bamboo. Imagine a land where horse carriages, bicycles and, ox carts still provide the masses with their transportation needs.

You don’t have to imagine because Burma exists. Burma is a land where everyone is smiling, where everyone is friendly. Burma is a country with diverse ethnic groups to meet and temples to explore all virtually untouched by the ravages of modern tourism or the pop culture of the West.

Burma is by far the best country I have visited so far. Its people were amazing, its sights fantastic. It is far far cleaner than Sumatra with better food and lacks entirely the aggressive Thai tourism trade which loves to dump a hotel, neon sign, and t-shirt shop on top of every beach and remote hiking village.

The dream, the tourist fantasy isn’t entirely real however and I have left Burma confused, delighted, upset, happy, angry, and more than anything else perhaps guilty.

It was scary to be in this perfect land and have a priest ask me in a small village to smuggle out some letters for him because he told me they would be censored. It was scary and frightening to see a modern MIG fly over Yangon and realize the government has enough money for modern fighter jets yet not enough for hospitals, schools, or decent roads. It was scary to read a newspaper with no news but with propaganda and pictures of fat generals. It was scary when I discovered there was no internet not because the infrastructure didn’t exist but because it wasn’t allowed.

Finally it became apparent I was a tourist visiting interesting and exciting places not on my own terms but because the government allowed me to.

If there is anything my visit to Burma has taught me it is I am dam proud to be an American. Thank your lucky stars those reading this you were born free and have the rights and freedoms you do. There is a population of close to 46 million with an average yearly income of less than $300 a year who don’t.

History-Here is an interesting but rather dry bit on the history of Burma I pulled from the Internet. Feel free to skip if you don’t like history but I think it is valuable in understanding what is going on in Burma and to get a little idea of what Burma is all about.

Inscriptions dating from the 6th century BC testify to the very early establishment of advanced civilizations in Burma. Migrations occurred frequently from north to south and from the mountains to the coast. The people intermingled and occasionally engaged in battles until the 11th century when Burmese conquered the southern Hmong and the northern Kadu, establishing the state of Bagan.

The following two centuries were a golden age in Burmese thought and architecture. The Mongols attacked from the North, with aid from the Great Khan in Beijing. In 1283, the Mongol invasion ended the Bagan state and the Mongols remained in power until 1301. Marco Polo, in the service of Kublai Khan, participated in the invasion and is thought to have been the first European to visit the country.

Burma remained divided into small ethnic states until the 16th century when Toungoo local leaders reunified the territory. The second of these rulers, Bayinnaung, extended his domain to parts of present-day Laos and Thailand.

Extravagance undermined the agricultural foundations of the economy, resulting in an exodus of peasants to neighboring states. The process of fragmentation was hastened by the presence of early European traders and their consequent rivalries.

In 1740, a Toungoo ruler again achieved unification, with the help of the British. But when his successors continued the project of national reconstruction, they clashed with British interests in Assam, India, and a confrontation resulted with their former European allies. The Burmese fought three wars against the British throughout the 19th century, in 1820-26, 1852-53 and 1885-86. During the last war, King Thibaw was taken prisoner and Burma was annexed to the British viceroyalty of India.

The 1930s began with a rising tide of nationalist movements; that of the Buddhist monk, U Ottama, inspired by Gandhi; Saya San’s attempt to restore the monarchy; and uprisings organized by the University of Rangoon, bringing together Buddhists and Marxists. In 1936, a student demonstration became an anti-British national protest, led by Aung San.

The anti-colonial movement was not restricted to the urban élites. Heavy taxes and the collapse of the world rice market in 1930 forced thousands of small farmers into debt and ruin at the hands of British banks and Indian moneylenders. Discontent expressed itself as a generalized xenophobia, leading to popular rebellions in 1938 and 1939.

When World War II broke out, a group of militant anti-colonialists in Bangkok, known as «the 30 comrades», including members from the newly-created Communist Party, formed the Burma Independence Army (BIA). They joined the Japanese against the British and invaded the capital on 7 March 1942. Minority groups of Karen, Kachin and Chin organized guerrilla groups to combat both the BIA and the Japanese.

The Japanese granted Burma independence on August 1 1943, appointing Ba Maw head of state. The «national» army was placed under the command of Ne Win. However, friction soon developed between the Japanese and the socialist wing of the «30 comrades». On March 27 1945, the BIA declared war on Japan and was recognized by the British as the Patriotic Burmese Forces. On May 30, they captured Rangoon, this time with the help of the British. Aung San organized a transition government, and in 1947, a constitution was drafted. On July 19, a military commando assassinated Aung San and several aides in the palace, and U Nu stepped in as premier. On January 4 1948, independence was proclaimed.

Several challenges faced the new government: ethnic minorities rebelled; recently-defeated Chinese Kuomintang forces moved into Shan state, where they were also involved in drug trafficking, and Aung San’s army, renamed the People’s Volunteer Organization and linked to the Communist Party, mounted a further armed insurrection.

On May 2 1962, General Ne Win overthrew U Nu, who had been very successful in the 1960 elections. Burma had peacefully settled its border conflicts with India and China, and throughout the war in Southeast Asia Rangoon maintained a policy of non-alignment. Ne Win nationalized the banks, the rice industry (which accounted for 70 per cent of foreign earnings), and the largely Indian controlled trade.

In 1972, a new constitution confirmed the governing Burma Socialist Program Party (BSSP) as the only legal political organization.

Ne Win’s regime declined after the 1973 economic crisis and opponents emphasized the ambiguity of his «Burmese Socialism».

In 1979, Burma withdrew from the Non-Aligned Movement. In 1981, the National Congress named San Yu as successor to Ne Win, who resigned the presidency but continued as party chairperson and thus maintained control of the country.

At the end of 1987, the social and economic situation worsened. In August, Ne Win admitted making mistakes in the economic policy of the previous 25 years. A BSPP ruling congress appointed Sein Lwin as head of state, triggering a new wave of protests. Hundreds of students and Buddhist monks died in the streets, and Lwin - nicknamed «the butcher of Rangoon» was forced to resign after 17 days, replaced by Dr Maung Maung.

The opposition organized for the multiparty elections scheduled for May 1990. The Government changed the country’s name to Union of Myanmar and dropped the term «Socialist».

The National League for Democracy (NLD) won 80 per cent of the vote, while the ruling National Unity Party (ex-BSPP) retained only 10 of the 485 seats. The election results were ignored by the Government who banned opposition activities, imprisoned or banished its leaders, and harshly repressed street demonstrations.

In July 1989, the leader of the NLD, Aung San Suu Kyi, the daughter of anti-colonial hero Aung San, was sentenced to house arrest and held incommunicado. She received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991.

The opposition was reinforced by agreements between students, Buddhist monks and some minorities. In March 1992, the UN High Commission for Refugees denounced the massacres carried out against ethnic minorities. All political parties were dissolved or banned.

In April, General Than Shwe took power releasing 200 dissidents and permitting 31 universities and schools to reopen. Myanmar returned to the Movement of Non-Aligned Nations. In September, martial law was suspended, but Amnesty International reported the continued use of torture.

In January 1993, the military invoked a National Convention to draw up a new constitution. At the end of that year, Amnesty International denounced the imprisonment of over 1,550 opposition figures.

An article of the new 1994 constitution stipulated presidential candidates could neither be married to foreigners nor bear children under foreign citizenship and they should have been residing in Myanmar for the last 20 consecutive years. The regulation was custom-made for Suu Kyi who was married to a British subject and lived several years abroad. The military junta met with her in September 1994 for the first time since she was arrested. No agreement was reached regarding the new constitution.

In July 1995, Suu Kyi was released from house arrest and called on the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) to hold a dialogue. The SLORC refused, jailed dozens of dissidents and maintained the ban on political debates.

The headquarters of the rebel minority in Manerplaw was taken by the SLORC in January. The fall of Manerplaw was an important defeat for the opposition since it was also an important base for undercover organizations belonging to the rebel armies and democrat activists. In January 1996 through a secret accord the Government achieved the surrender of Khun Sa, known as the «opium king» and leader of a Shan force.

Huge crowds - some of them with up to 10,000 followers - periodically gathered to express support at the door of Suu Kyi’s home in May and June 1996 but these demonstrations lost strength due to government repression. In June, the SLORC banned statements against the Government and threatened with a complete prohibition of the NLD’s activities and the arrest of its members for unlawful association.

The SLORC declared 1996 as year of tourism. It promoted the development of public works and the real estate sector - a base for drug-money laundering - with strong participation by the state and foreign investors.

In 1996, the military junta ordered the arrest of some 250 members of the NLD, who had planned to celebrate the anniversary of their victory in the 1990 parliamentary elections. The regime also approved a law banning NLD political meetings.

Arrests of members of the NLD continued to be arrested in 1996. The Government restricted Suu Kyi’s freedom, to the point of banning her use of the telephone.

The SLORC, submitted to increasing international pressure, above all from the United States and the European Union, made some concessions in 1997. In September, it allowed the NLD to hold its first congress in seven years, although it only authorized the attendance of half its 600 delegates.

In an attempt at renovation, toward the end of 1997, the military junta dissolved itself appointing a State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) in its place a. In July of this year, Myanmar became a member of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN).

In early 1998, inflation increased enormously, as a consequence of the stock market crisis in Southeast Asia. In addition, the rice harvest - one of the main crops for internal consumption and export - was far smaller than had been expected.

In August the army launched a virulent press campaign against Suu Kyi, who had been arrested at an army control post when, for the fourth time, she tried to leave the capital to meet with supporters. The Junta classed Suu Kyi as «public enemy number one». The government newspapers added that anyone meeting with her in public would not have «long to live».

The government’s intimidation policy was kept up over the following months. In March 2000, in a public event celebrating the armed forces, President Than Shwe warned that government opponents would be «eliminated» if they threatened the «stability of the country». Similarly, Than Shwe called for national unity and for the insurgents fighting along the frontiers to sign a cease fire «and swiftly join hands with the army».

In September 2000 Suu Kyi was under police guard after her 9-day protest against travel restrictions was forcibly ended.

Airport

The Yangon International airport looks more like a high school than an International airport. You can find out how I had a wonderful time dealing with officials and trying to exchange money when I landed in my story Burmese Money further below.

Yangon

It is strange to fly over a capital city at night and see virtually no lights. This is the first thing that struck me about the city was its virtual darkness. Frequent power outages and the expense of electricity has most people in the evening eating in restaurants by candle light. It gives a romantic feel to the city.

By day Yangon is far from dark but glistens from the sheer glory of its golden pagodas. Burma is the golden land, the land of golden pagodas, the bell based round structures which rise to pointed spires. In no place is their a grander pagoda then in Yangon with its Shwedagon

The Shwedagon is Myanmar’s most sacred structure. Legend relates two traders traveled to India where they met the recently enlightened Siddartha Gautama, the Buddah, under a bodhi tree. The travelers presented to the Buddha rice cakes and honey. He conveyed to them his wisdom and gave them eight of his hairs.(It is kind of funny because nearly every pagoda you visit in Thailand and Burma claims to have a hair from the Buddha. The poor guy must have been bald if all of the claims are true) Upon the traders return the king of the region ordered the hairs enshrined in a pagoda hence the Shwedagon. Builders constructed a sequence of superimposed pagodas of iron, marble, lead, copper, tin, silver, before encrusting the temple in jewels. The original structure only measure 22m. the Shwedagon today measures 109m.

If you have never seen a golden pagoda before this is the one to see. It is huge. It rises toward the sky like a huge yellow thumbtack. At dusk the sun’s gentle light washes the gold with subtle colors.

I do not joke about gold nor am I lying about jewels. The Burmese seem to be obsessed with coating every pagoda and Buddah statue they can in pure gold leaf. If you can Imagine the dome of the United States capital completely covered in gold leaf you will at least get a very rough sense of what the Shwedagon looks like. The very top of the pagoda has a metal flag or windmill which is completely encrusted with gems. Burma is a very poor country but only because it government keeps it that way. Burma is far from poor in resources and has rubies, jade, and teak galore which many of its monasteries, temples, and pagodas, incorporate in their structure’s. It’s kind of wild to be in a city which can’t afford to keep the light’s on yet has the largest gold and gem encrusted monument I have ever seen.

I liked Yangon. While Bangkok was a city where none of the streets were designed with any order and instead grew out of a city designed around canals, Yangon makes sense. The streets in Yangon are on a grid, are numbered, and you can literally walk around the block. There are few cars, and no motorbikes. The streets are clean and pollution free. The architecture is unchanged in the downtown. The Anglican brick churches and the English town hall still remain. You can almost shut your eyes and it can seem the British never left.

The Burmese People

Along with the Batek in Sumatra the Burmese are the friendliest warmest people I have met on my trip. They always seem to have a smile on their face. I believe this may be in part their devote belief in Buddhism.

The Burmese people have raven black hair and brown leaf almost bronze skin.

Under the bright punishing rays of the Burmese sun women retain their amazing complexions by painting their faces with a pale yellow almost white cream made from the soft outer bark of the thanakha tree. At times the coated countenances of the women makes one feel as if you were surrounded by circus clowns.

Men where checkered “longyis” instead of pants. Longyi’s are bolts of hand woven cotton wrapped around the men’s waist. They look similar to skirts or brightly colored table clothes worn around the waste.

Smoking is not as prevalent as it is in Indonesia. chewing Betel nut is the main avarice in the country. Beetle nut is the nut of the areca palm stuffed into bettle vine leaves. when its chewed it creates a blood red saliva which stains the chewers teeth crimson. Men spit the digusting juice as the leaves and nuts swelter int heir mouths out of bus and train windows staining the streets red.

When the Burmese men do smoke they smoke the cheaper local grown green cigars known as cheroots.

The Burmese are a clean and kind people though and they generally refrain from smoking on bus trips or spitting and throwing trash on bus floors.

This makes travel in Burma relatively pleasant. The roads are terrible, one lane, and bumpy but the drivers are sane, and the people are great.

Kalaw

Visiting Kalaw was one of the highlights of my trip to Burma. It was my first stop after Yangon and I am glad I went.

Kalaw is in the Shan state a wonderful region in Eastern Burma filled with mountains and rich valleys. The Shan are distinct from the Burmese. They speak Burmese but also speak their own Shan language. The Shan account for roughly 10% of the countries population. The Shan were largely autonomous and separate form the Burmese under British rule and their is a subtle undercurrent of resentment toward the Burmese majority. In fact their is still a rebel Shan army fighting for independence.

Kalaw was once a British hill station. Hi in the mountains it is refreshing cool and in the evening even cold. The days I spent there in the mountains were perfect, with warm fresh breezes and gentle sun. The town surrounded by an abundance of wildflowers in bloom gave the impression of a town bestowed with the mantle of an eternal spring.

With an Israeli I met Yoav Alfandari from Zur Moshe I went hiking in the mountains around Kalaw for four days. It was some of the most enjoyable hiking I have ever done. For my hiking friends, imagine the Graceland Highlands with water buffalo instead of horses. It was great.

Here is what I wrote in my journal

End of journal entry

Hiking through the villages reminded me of touring Old World Wisconsin an outdoor heritage museum located near my home in Wisconsin dedicatted to showcasing how the first settlers lived when they came to Wisconsin. I saw villagers gathering crops by hand, plowing rice fields with ox and plow, and spreading out chillies and tea leaves to dry on bamboo mats in the sun.

I saw women weaving bamboo mats by hand, and carrying heavy bushels of ginger and firewood strapped to their back for the market four to five miles distant. I was amazed to see how everything was done, how everything came from the land, and how everything was painstakingly carted, carried, or made by hand.

My guide was a wonderful man named U Sam Ni. We also traveled with his nephew who came along so he could work on his English. U Sma Ni is 42 years old and had been only been a tourist guide for a month. He had to give up being a farmer because he could not earn enough money. The people in the villages seem to be happy and have plenty to eat but U Sam Ni told me they have little money for medicine, education, or clothing. U Sam Ni was a ginger farmer. He related the current price for ginger at 3.6 pounds was about 45 kyat, thats about 4 cents. Flower growers earn a little bit more money and for an entire basket full of flowers, a farmer might get 2,000 kyat $2. People may have food because they grow it themselves but they have little money for anything else.

Perhaps the best part of the trip was to spend an evening in one of the farmer’s homes, 35 year old Ko Chit Hwe who grows potatoes mountain rice, ginger, flowers, cabbages, and other vegetables. Sam Ni knew the area well. He just knocked on Ko Chit Hwe’s door and ask if we could stay.

Here is what I wrote in my journal

End of journal

Yoav and I were originally only going to spend three days in the countryside but we were having such a delightful time in the rural bucolic wonderland. We extended our trip another day. This gave us time to go to Sam Ni’ village.

The poor guy hadn’t seen his family in a month. After changing his profession he had to move to Kalaw where all of the tourists come to start their treks. He lives in Kalaw with his sister and her husband who is the postmaster. His little daughter was overjoyed to see her daddy when he strode into the village.

Sam Ni really must have had a hard go of it. He showed us his rice field which was literally on the side of a very steep mountain side. How he was able to ever grow anything there I don’t know. He did not have a nice house like the first farmer we stayed with. He just had a hut. We had to stay at his mother in laws house who had a house similar to the one described above. His mother in law must have been well off however because her house had a porch and windows, with no glass mind you just an open hole with a shutter.

The only draw back to staying with some of these farmers is that while the family slept near the warm ashen remains of the fire in the kitchen we slept in the common room. They gave us blankets each night but high up in the mountains we froze. Being a little cold was well worth the experience though.

U Sam Ni had only been a guide for one month and it showed on our way back. He got us lost. He took us up a mountain and said he knew a path down which lead to Kalaw. We could see Kalaw but villagers we met along the way said there wasn’t a path to Kalaw over the mountain. You could tell Sam Ni was lost because of the way he was arguing with the villagers for several minutes that there was a path. Rather than admit a mistake and turn back however Sam Ni kept on leading us up the mountain until we were waste high in bramble and grass. We had to bushwhack our way toward Kalaw instead of following a road or path.

Yoav had been in the Israeli army for 3 years and had enough of Sam Ni’s poor direction. Yoav with his military determination lead us straight down the mountain. The sides were steep and we practically slid down holding on to grass or small branches to keep what little footing we had. It was getting dark and both Yoav and I feared we would get stuck on the mountain but thanks to Yoav leadership we made it down and found a road leading to Kalaw. It had taken us close to 4 hours to find our way back and get down from the mountain. Yoav gets the good guy of the week award for his leadership.

Sam Ni didn’t say a word and he walked behind us. He knew he had screwed up big time. He was a genuine man with a good soul however. He apologized profusely and invited us to diner to atone. We agreed and met his brother in law the postman, and his sister in their apartment above the post office in Kalaw. The family didn’t eat with us. We insisted though that Sam Ni joined us but he only ate a bit of rice. The rest of the family just watched us eat and served us. It was a very bizarre feeling to have people watch you eat and fill up your bowl with rice the moment it was empty. I would have felt guilty just eating and leaving so to thank the family Yoav and I gave an English lesson to the bright nephew. Sam Ni and his sister’s family encouraged us if we were ever in Kalaw again to visit. Yoav and I had made a good friendship with the family.

Inle Lake

Next stop was Inle lake. Inle lake isn’t so much a lake but a marsh. Lake Toba and Lake Manijaw in Sumatra are far superior in beauty but what it does have however is a fascinating culture, a unique group of people who call themselves Intha and who live just not around the lake but on it.

The water of the lake is not deep and in the very center of the lake people have built villages upon wooden piles. If this were not enough of an interesting site the lake is also a farm field. On muddy furrows created from muck scoped up from the silty bottom tomatoes grow on virtual floating bogs of mud. The constant supply of water and bright sunshine allows the tomatoes to thrive.

A tour of the lake is a fascinating festival for the eyes. You can see fisherman who paddle their wooden canoe like boats with their feet and whose nets look like badminton shuttle cocks. They place the nets into the shallow water to trap fish which they then spear with tridents.

Where the tourists stay in Inle is a bit touristy. The abundance of tomatoes and Italian tourists has many restaurants offering Spaghetti and tortellini. I stuck to the Burmese food which is delicious

I really really liked Burmese food. you could get a full meal for between 60 and 80 cents. A typical meal would start with a large bowl of rice then wat ta hin, curried pork, or chat ta hin, curried chicken. This is then served with a number of vegetables, for example cauliflower, creamed corn, or bamboo shoots as well as other curries, for example red chili curry with dried fish. A sweet and sour soup or a soup with a peppery base with a vegetable or bean broth is also served. All of the vegetables and curries come in separate bowls and are served family style. The dishes, except the meat, are often replenished automatically by a restaurant’s staff who watches you like a hawk to see what you need. You can eat as much as you want. The food is sometimes spicy but not overpoweringly spicy like Thai food. For desert you are often served lumps of a brown sweet sugar made from a palm tree which tastes exactly like maple syrup candy. For drinks it is the ubiquitous smooth Chinese ! tea. Finally there is usually a plate of vegetables, chives, cabbage leaves, carrots, and cucumbers for you to enjoy while you eat your meal. Whatever you do however I would strongly strongly recommend you not eat the vegetables.

Never Never Eat Raw Vegetables in a third world country

I made a huge mistake by eating the raw vegetables one evening. I thought my stomach could handle it. It couldn’t

I spent a miserable Christmas Eve and Christmas listening to the Germans and Austrians in my hotel sign O tatenbaugh while I sat on a toilet. I think I have thrown up more on this trip than I ever did in 5 years of college. I really really missed home on Christmas.

Mandalay

This old royal city is rich in palaces, stupas, temples and pagodas. It is also the main center of Buddhism and Burmese arts. Taking its name from Mandalay Hill (rising about 240m/787ft to the northeast of the palace), the city was founded by King Mindon in 1857, the old wooden palace buildings at Amarapura being moved and reconstructed.

Mandalay was ok. It was just another city however with more pagodas. It gets to the point in Burma that once you’ve seen one Buddhist temple or golden pagoda you’ve seen them all.

What I found the most interesting was a Buddhist monastery built completely of teak. It was the size of half a football field with every inch of it had with ornate wood carving of dragons , lions and Buddhas.

The next coolest thing was in Amarapura the old capital only a few miles from Mandalay. There is the longest teak bridge there in the world. U Bein’s bridge is like a board walk. IT spans Lake Taungthaman and is over a kilometer in length. It is an absolutely gorgeous spot to watch crimson robed monks pass as the orange setting sun fades. It is extremely picturesque.

Pyin O Lwin and Hsipaw

These were two great hill towns I visited. To give you a more accurate picture of the towns and my experience there you can read my story about the train ride I took between Pyin O Lwin and Hsipaw. The Austrian woman I mentioned in my story who married a Shan prince wrote a book called Twilight over Burma which may be of interest to some of you. It is supposed to be a very interesting book and I plan to read it myself once I can find a copy.

Bagan

After Hsipaw I returned to Mandalay and took a boat ride down the Irrawaddy river to Bagan. All I can say about Bagan is WOW WOW WOW

Bagan is an ancient city, the remnant of a kingdom which ruled Burma over 900 years ago and which fell into decline after the Mongols invaded the land in 1283.

Over 2,000 temples over a 16 square mile area remain. Imagine all of the Cathedrals and small stone town churches of Europe assembled on one flat grassy plain in one place and you will begin to understand the grandeur of Bagan.

Here is what I wrote in my journal

End of journal

Tourists are free to explore and with a bicycle I felt like a kid in a real life video game. I climbed dark stairways to reach temple roofs. I wandered through cool passage ways filled with bat dung and musty air to gave at frescoes, and into the eyes of 12th century stone Buddhas.

In the museum I read the English translation of an ancient stone tablet and read of the dedication ceremony of a temple. I read in awe fo 2,000 monks leading a procession of musicians blowing horns, trumpets and being followed by elephants bearing harnesses of of gold and gems. In Bagan surrounded by so many temples one can almost imagine the grandeur the splendor of this ancient city. I felt as if I were not at Bagan at all but had stepped into the pages of a national geographic.

Well that’s about it after Bagan I made it back to Yangon. i took a side trip to the temple of the golden boulder which was nice but like I said once you’ve seen one golden pagoda, boulder, or Buddha you’ve kind of seen them all. The boulder wasn’t really hanging by a hair like all of the Buddhists believe. It looked pretty solid on the side of the cliff to me. After the golden boulder I flew back to Bangkok

Anyways I hope you enjoyed the update. I know I write allot but I have been told by several friends they like all of the detail. If you have read this far you are probably one of them. thank you for your interest

Sincerely,

Patrick Martino

P.S. My stories are below

Bridge Over the River Kwai

Before Sir Alec Guinness became famous to a generation of young Americans as Obi-Wan Kenobi in the 1977 movie Star Wars he starred in other action movies. In the 1956 film The Bridge Over the River Kwai, Sir Alec Guinness played a British Colonel Nicholson in charge of a camp of allied World War II POWs cruelly forced by their Japanese captors to build a wooden railroad bridge over the jungle river Kwai. The film won an Academy Award for best picture and Sir Alex Guinness won an academy award for best actor.

Although the original book by Pierre Boulle, and the subsequent movie are only loosely based on historical fact, a bridge over the river Kwai, built during World War II by POWs, does exist. Visitors might be surprised to learn, though, the bridge isn’t built of bamboo and wood, as in the movie, but steel.

The waters of the Khwae Yai, a large tributary of the Mae Klong river are a drab olive green and resemble the hue of a lime peal. The water flows swiftly beneath the “bridge over the river Kwai” two and a half miles North West of the town of Kanchanaburi in Thailand.

The bridge is nothing spectacular. It rises from concrete pillars and its eleven arching spans stretch 1,240 feet between the raised banks of the shore. It resembles countless railroad bridges. It is a simple steel structure built to span a river.

John Campbell, a former airline pilot from Oviedo Florida on vacation with his wife, called the bridge “Anticlimactic.”

“All the lives that went into building this railroad, I think the movie has that right. I didn’t realize it was a steel structure though.” said Mr. Campbell

“Nothing spectacular. Its a bridge just built for a purpose,” said Jan Skelton ,26, from London England. “It’s a bit sad though the number of peoples lives completely wasted building it. ” he further remarked.

The bridge may not be awe inspiring, not an Eiffel tower or Taj Mahal, nor the bamboo and wood structure in the movie but to see it one realizes it is more than a bridge but a monument to the men who died building it and the rest of the Thai-Burmese railway.

“Its a piece of history ” said Kanapa Pongponrat visiting from Bangkok Thailand.

The “bridge over the river Kwai” was an important part of the Thai- Burmese railway.

The Japanese conceived of the plan to build the roughly 263 mile Thai-Burmese railroad during World War II to supply their armies in Burma and link Bangkok with Rangoon.

The British prior to the war had surveyed a route to build the railroad link but had given up the plan because of the mountainous and disease infested terrain. The Japanese weren’t dissuaded by the task. They decided to even raise the stakes declaring the entire railroad should be built in fourteen months. The British had previously estimated the project would take close to five years.

Work began on the railroad in the late summer of 1942. The Japanese never ratified the 1929 Geneva Convection which outlined the humane treatment for prisoners of war. During the Thai-Burmese railroad’s construction 61,700 Allied prisoners captured by the Japanese, including 700 Americans, were put to work building the railroad. Later on during the construction an estimated 200,000 Asian conscripts were also forced to work. By the time the railroad was completed in October 1943, close to 13,000 of the POWs had died. Diseases such as cholera, dysentery, and malaria decimated the ranks.Others died in accidents, or from beatings from their guards. An estimated 80,000 Asian laborers also died. The railroad earned the moniker the death railroad.

There were originally two bridges over the Khwae Yai. The first bridge was constructed from wood. This first bridge was swept away by the swift current of the river. It was rebuilt, while a second more substantial bridge made of steel was constructed at the same time.

The second wooden bridge was completed in February of 1943. The steel bridge was completed in May of 1943. It is the steel structure which tourists can visit.

Nine men died building the bridge. These are comparatively light statistics when compared to other bridges along the death railway. A bridge known as the stack of cards bridge for example, named because its wooden structure was prone to collapse, saw 31 men killed from falls from the bridge and another 29 beaten to death. In total nearly nine miles of bridges were built in constructing the death railway, using a total of some 30,000 trees.

You can walk across the “bridge over the river Kwai.” You can smell the pitch and tar of the wooden ties. You can walk between the shiny rails on nailed down planks. Beneath the hot Thai sun one can even imagine emaciated, sick, starving men waving sledge hammers and pounding dog spikes to secure rails, knowing one ardent swing could send a man to his death to the green tide below.

After the completion of the death railroad some POWs were sent to prisoner of war camps in Singapore and Japan. Many died in transport, their ships having been sunk by Allied submarines. Others POWs stayed in the jungle to repair the bridges destroyed by allied bombers or work on other Japanese construction projects.

The railroad was used for roughly two years by the Japanese but carried only a meager 300 to 400 tons of freight a day. This was far short of the 3,000 tons the Japanese had hope for. The tonnage was enough, however, for the Japanese to attempt a final offensive in Burma in 1944. This failing the railroad facilitated their escape.

The second wooden bridge over the Khwae Yai was destroyed in 1944 by Allied bombers. The steel bridge was also struck by bombers but was repaired after the war. Roughly eighty miles of the railroad are still used in Thailand including the repaired steel bridge.

The railroad which was originally estimated to have taken five years to build was completed in less two. The death railroad was an engineering marvel, laid across once thought impassable jungle mountains and wide rivers. Sadly it was built with the lives of men.

The bridge over the Khwae Yai may look like an ordinary bridge but it represents much more.

Train Ride

Taking a train ride in Myanmar, formerly Burma, is nothing riding in Amtrak’s sterilized comfort, on the Hiawatha, between Milwaukee and Chicago. The boring Chicago L, with its masses of glum and dour faced commuters, also does not compare to the adventure, the sights, and the sounds of riding over the same rails the British laid in Burma over one hundred years ago and across an eight hundred foot tall viaduct built by the Pennsylvania Steel Company in 1900.

I began my train ride in the town of Pyin O Lwin. Pyin O Lwin is a cool mountain town set among green vast mountains, roughly 42 miles East of Mandalay. The town was once a British hill station, where the officials and officers of British Burma would seek refuge from the undying heat of the dusty plains. A brick church, a proud clock tower, and European store fronts give evidence to the town’s former British rule.

Pyin O Lwin was shrouded with a wet morning mist. The town was just waking, as I left my guest house and walked with my gray Lowe Alpine backpack toward the train station. Chestnut horses, tethered to Wells Fargo like carriages, breathed their first foggy breaths. Men with warm coats and winter hats squatted on tiny chairs at tiny tables sipping steaming tea. The eerie creek of bicycle pedals proceeded the passing of solitary riders.

The train station was as solitary and sleepy still as the town. At 8:00 A.M. the train had yet to arrive. Beneath the broad black awning of the one story brick station, men and woman waited on the concrete platform. Ancient women, with wrinkled brown faces, squatted behind bamboo trays filled with fried vegetables and tofu offering them for sale. Stray dogs walked along the weedy tracks.The tracks were littered with random blue plastic bags and clear bottles.

I was headed for Hsipaw, some 90 miles from Pyin O Lwin. It was suposed to be a quant town in the Shan state surrounded by farmland and fields of yellow sesame. It was once home to Inge Sargent, an Austrain woman, who married a Shan prince, Sao Kya Seng. The palace remains but the government took away the prince in 1962 and executed him. Inge Sargent escape from Burma and now lives in Bolder Colorado.

I bought my $2 ticket for Hsipaw and waited for the train.

A train arrived at 8:20 A.M. I hastily boarded. I lifted my heavy pack and climbed the metal steps of the brown and pale orange painted carriage. I sat on a hard wooden pew like seat with my backpack stored above me on a rack.

The train began. With slow eager straining it pulled its pregnant cargo. As the train got underway, the goodhearted passengers waved to me and spoke to me in garbled English and confusing Burmese. In a vain attempt to communicate to me they shouted, “Mandalay, Mandalay!” as they pointed in the direction the train was heading.

I was on the wrong train. I was headed toward Mandalay. Mandalay was the wrong direction!

I grabbed my pack before the train could gain its stride. I leapt from the still struggling train back onto the concrete platform. I had safely avoided a grave error.

My real train did not arrive until 9:00 A.M. A burly diesel engine was pushing a string of the same pale orange and brown carriages up the line. The conductor held out a green flag with his left hand as the train clambered forward. With his right hand he waved a large clear brass bell as if he were a town crier.

When he raised a red flag the clear ringing of his bell ceased. The wheels of the train screeched. The train to Hsipaw stopped.

Passengers are far from the only things carried on a passenger train in Burma. Passenger trains really aren’t passenger trains at all but freight trains which happen to carry passengers.

Through the open windows of the trains’ cabins bamboo bushels of fruit were passed and stuffed beneath the hard seats. Watermelons in woven white plastic sacks guarded the entrance to the commode in a sand bag like bunker. The aisles were blocked with luggage and vegetables, yet the passengers seemed content to climb and crawl to get about.

At last, at 9:20 A.M., with all the cargo loaded, my journey to Hsipaw began.

The train was slow. The train clipped along on the meter gage track at the blazing speed of ten to twelve miles an hour with occasional bursts of twenty. A car, a horse, or a mountain bike could have easily outdistanced the lethargic train. Its tranquil pace, however, gave time for pause.

My large rectangular window had no glass. I felt the wind. I saw battlements of white clouds protecting the fortress of an ultramarine sky.

We passed bamboo houses, thatched huts, and ran along yellow hard packed roads rutted by the wheels of bullocks carts. Wildflowers of yellow and white grew among the bramble, grass, and wild weeds besides the tracks.

The trains whistle was like a heralds call to warn of bursts of speed. The wooden sleepers left by British engineers and Burmese workers at the turn of the century were loose in their gravel beds. Unrepaired for decades they were restless under the weight of wheels and produce an uncomfortable ride. The carriage rocked at times like an undulating ship. At others times, it bumped and jumped like a bucking horse.

I was reminded of my days on yellow school busses where my peers and I prayed the bus driver would hit a pot hole or drive recklessly over the speed bumps in front of our school to send my friends and I soaring from our seats. On the train, though, I feared a far greater fate than being uprooted from my seat. The train felt as if it produced any greater speed than twenty miles per hour it would surely be derailed.

We passed fields with low mud-bank borders, mud dams, waiting for the monsoon rains to hold reservoirs of water for the rice crop. Water buffalo, black beasts of burden and strength, pulled plows to turn the red brown soil. Women wearing conical hats weeded and wielded hoes in green fields of onions. Small smiling children waved. The scenery in sum was a bucolic masterpiece of green growth, brown fallow fields wanting to be planted, and low distant mountains spotted with green pines and pastoral fields.

Along our way we stopped at brick stations. Porters were burdened under gigantic white bushel bags of cabbages. They nearly buckled under the weight of the leafy vegetables. The poor porters looked as if they were carrying white refrigerators as they waddled to the windows of the train to pack the asiles with yet more freight.

In Burma, a land filled with gold leaf pagodas, there are no golden arches but drive through windows do exist. Hawkers and vendors walked along the tracks at the stations, with trays of fruit and snacks. They called out their products for sale: carrots, onions, fried fish, barbecued chicken, bottled water and sweets. Through the windows passed money and in return lunch, a snack, or the ingredients for dinner.

The fast food at one station was white sticky rice, with a piece of curried chicken swamped in spicy red sauce, and wrapped in a broad green leaf. It was passed to me for 250 kyat, around 25 cents.

My companions for the ride to Hsipaw were 58 year old Saw Ba Than and 16 year old Aung Naing. Saw Ba Than in broken English told me he was not Burmese, Chinese, or Shan but Korean.

Saw Ba Than is a rice smuggler. He smuggles rice out of Myanmar and across the border into China. Why or how he smuggles rice he would not tell me.

Saw Ba Than had a wide broad face and eyes hidden behind tinted sunglasses. He wore a blue Nike stoking cap, a military like green jacket, gray trousers, and cheap blue plastic flip flops. He was warm and open about everything except his rice.

Aung Naing’s young face was Indian. He spoke barely a word of English but accommodated his difficulty to communicate with a bright happy smile. His eyes were quick and keen. He had a thick mop of black combed hair and wore an equally black unzipped leather jacket.

Saw Ba Than and Aung Naing conspired to teach me new words in both Burmese and in the local Shan dialect. I wrote the words down in my notebook using ping yang. They taught me potato, tomato, how long, what time is it, bus station, and train station. They both laughed and smiled as I, their protege, butchered and murdered the pronunciation.

Halfway through my ride the train approached the Gokteik viaduct.

The Gokteik viaduct was built in 1900 by the Pennsylvania steel company. It was the only American built trestle in the British Raj. At its completion it was considered to be one of the greatest engineering feats the world had ever seen and the second highest trestle in the world. The viaduct stretches for roughly 2,200 feet to bridge the gap over a tremendous gorge filled with a vast expanse of trees and a river hidden by the boughs. Looking across the gorge are red stained limestone walls. Black shadows hide hidden crevices and the gaping maw of ancient caves.

Myanmar is run by a military junta.The military for some reason does not enjoy tourists taking pictures as they cross the viaduct, although it has stood for over one hundred years. The apparent reason I read in a guide book was an army base was located at its base, although I never saw one. Despite the ban, I took pictures anyway, with the help no less of a soldier.

The soldier had a tan face. His skin was bronze, almost brown. He wore a green jungle hat with a red Manchester United patch sewn to its front and a black jacket. He looked more like a young teenager than a soldier.

I had walked to the front of the rail carriage to take my pictures while leaning out the open doorway. A local woman with fine silk black hair, her face painted with a yellow paste used by Burmese women to protect their skin from sun and wrinkles, told me kindly I should not be taking pictures. “No, No army,” she said as she pointed to my Canon camera. I did not understand.

It was then I met my military friend. He met me in the aisle. He motioned for me to put away my camera and take my seat.

The train rolled over the viaduct at a crawl to save the aging structure from undo stress. The trestle rises high above the gorge to a height of nearly 800 feet at its tallest point, the length of nearly two football fields. High in the sky on a train trestle makes one anxious enough, knowing it is one hundred years old and probabaly hasn’t been repaired since it was built makes one doubly anxious.

The trestle was painted a glittery silver. I was surprised to see for its remarkable age it did not show a sign of rust. It was like a gigantic erector set of riveted beams, a lacework of steel.

As we began to cross the bridge, I was sad with the knowledge I would not be able to take anymore pictures as we crossed.

My military friend joined me on my wooden bench. He surprised me. He began to motion and sign it was now ok to take pictures but that I must wait for his signal.

With my camera in my lap he would give me the ok when it was alright to take a picture and when to hide my Canon.

Bandoliered sentinels with rifles strung across their chests wore green fatigues and jungle hats. They stood ruefully on the ramparts of the bridge. It was these guardians my military friend warned me of.

Once I had safely passed a sentinel I would aim my lens to focus the sights of the spectacular gorge. At the end of the gorge was an amazing cascading waterfall, with foaming spray which cut a course through the green foliage. I would gleefully click away before I was given the signal to once again lower my camera to hide it.

I took all of the pictures I desired. I passed safely over the viaduct and continued onwards towards Hsipaw.

Saw Ba Than and Aung Naing left me at Kyauk Me. A group of three young men who told me they were fireman from Hsipaw took their place. They each proceeded to light up a green acrid cheroot and puff smoke for me to inhale.

Meanwhile, my soldier friend with his army buddies took the benches across the aisle. They ate barbecued chicken on a stick and passed around a tin cup always filled with rum. They offered me a sip of their drink. I politely declined not thinking it wise to get drunk with a group of Burmese soldiers.

My military friend could not hold his liqueur. He began to entertain the young firemen with slurred speech. He breathed his fiery breath into the ears of the fireman. They ignored him as did I. Thank god he was not armed.

The once blue sky had become leaden and turned gray. The train passed fields stacked with mounds of hay the size of small huts as we came to the town of Hsipaw. It rained lightly as we arrive at around 3:45 P.M., just over 6 hours after I had begun.

It had been a bumpy ride one filled with spectacular views, rice smugglers, drunken soldiers, and a mighty viaduct.

To complete the adventure I had to jump out the window to get off the train. The aisle was still blocked by cabbages.

Burmese Money

Traveling to a foreign country usually requires changing money. Changing money can at times be difficult, stressful, and confusing. This is espically true when trying to find a bank with a good exchange rate or an ATM which will accept your bank card. Imagine then, the stress and confusion of converting and using cash in a country which uses not one form of currency but three.

The locals in Myanmar, formerly Burma, call the monochrome green U.S. dollar big head money, because of the framed oval over-sized portraits of American presidents and patriots. The Burmese love to use big head money, because of its notoriety around the world, its strength relative to other currencies, and because Myanmar’s own currency, the kyat, has a history of inflation and being devalued by the government.

Besides locals, Myanmar’s military government likes big head money too, with which they can buy fighter jets. The government likes U.S. dollars so much they make changing money into Myanmar’s third type of specie, FEC, Foreign Exchange Certificates, easy. They force tourists, not on packaged tours, to hand over $200 on arrival to Myanmar.

Tourists’ dollars are exchanged for an equal amount of FEC. The FEC are printed on cheap looking stiff paper and look more like monopoly money than currency.

Travelers can keep at least some of their big head money, however, if they are bold. I challenged the decree of blindly handing over $200. I wanted to keep as many portraits of Ben Franklin, Andrew Jackson, Alexander Hamilton, Abe Lincoln, and George Washington, depicted on the one hundred, twenty, ten , five , and one dollar notes respectively, not only because I didn’t want the money to go directly into the military junta’s war chest, but after having been traveling outside of the United States for four months it was nice to see some familiar faces.

After having my visa stamped at Yangon’s International airport I was hustled by a stiff white collared official to a varnished exchange counter labeled with the sign “Myanmar Foreign Trade Bank.” The desk attendant at the exchange counter was a young bronzed Burmese woman with spidery fingers. She analyzed each tourist’s passport like a pedantic monk before demanding her fee of $200.

I was one of the last, in a long line of tourists, along with a dark skinned young man with black curly hair. I had met him while stepping off the gangplank of our recently arrived flight from Bangkok Thailand.

When our turn approached we collectively whined and lied we would be returning to Bangkok in just four days. We argued we would require far less than the stipulated 200 FEC. We told the desk attendant we were flying back to Bangkok to celebrate, at the time, the approaching Christmas holiday.

The attendant didn’t believe us. My new friend had failed to tell me he held an Israeli passport, was Jewish, and didn’t celebrate Christmas.

The attendant had a dour countenance, a saturnine air, as if she had heard it all before. Only by steadfastly sticking to my lie for twenty minutes and with a generous Christmas “present” of five dollars was I able to exchange just $50.

After the receipt of my five FEC ten notes, I was brought a large hardbound ledger with musty thin-ruled pages. Under the watchful eye of the attendant, I wrote down my name, country, passport number, and finally stated the reason why I had been unable to proffer the $200. The desk attendant with the thin spidery fingers dictated I should write “I have no money, ” and then sign my name.

By the size of the ledger and the number of entries contained within the narrow rule, I was surprised the vast of majority of other tourists visiting Myanmar also had no money.

On the front of every FEC is written “one dollar equals one FEC.” It does not take a traveler long to realize, however, one FEC is worth far less than one dollar and FEC’s can be used to purchase very little, besides hotel rooms and admission to government controlled tourist attractions.

Using soley U.S. dollars can be inconvenient, in a country without coins, and where a bowl of soup cost around 8 cents and a soda 10 cents. If you want to eat you need kyat.

There are no ATMs in Myanmar which will accept foreingers’ cards. The few banks which do exchange travelers checks charge exorbitant fees, usually $2 per check regardless of its value, and convert the check not into dollars or kyat but into FEC’s. You can get kyat at hotels at terrible rates or you can try the black market.

Black market money dealers are easy to find in Yangon, formerly Rangoon, the capital of Myanmanr, but they are far from easy to deal with. You can find the dealers everywhere, in restaurants and hanging about the fringes of every tourist attraction. They will walk up to Western tourists, and in hushed tones whisper, “Do you want to change money?”

I found my black-market dealers near the Sule pagoda in the heart of downtown Yangon. Beneath the blazing gold leaf of the pagoda, which shimmered in the sun like a chalice, two men with black hair and spurious smiles were more than happy to make a deal. We negotiated the rate in the open, using a calculator passed back and forth. The shortest man looked vaguely over his shoulder ever few seconds to check for police.

We played a game of what is the tall tourist willing to part with his American dollars for.The mendacious men began the first round at 1,000 kyat for one U.S. dollar; if I changed $100. I laughed. I told them I wanted 1,035. They then laughed. They shook their heads. “No, No we sell dollar at 1020. Not Possible.” they told me.

It was not until I began to walk away, toward another eager dealer, the two men changed their minds and settled on a fair deal of 1,030 kyat per U.S. dollar.

We moved behind a parked Toyota truck to consummate the deal. I counted out the largest wade of cash I have ever held, 103 blue-green 1,000 kyat notes with the image of a stone lion printed on each. The stack of notes was a half inch thich. The money changers were nervous as I slowly counted out the 103 bills. They urged me repeatedly to hurry, in fear of the police.

When I opened my own money belt and began to count out my Abe Lincolns and Alexander Hamiltons, to give in exchange, the men grew upset.

“No No No,” they told me “No small bills, one hundred!”

In some strange mathematical way, I do not understand, $100 in Myanmar does not equal $100. One en Franklin is worth more than one hundred George Washingtons, twenty Abe Lincolns, or ten Alexander Hamiltons. It would take perhaps a dozen Wall Street analysts and a super computer to find any logic or any money making opportunities in exchanging currency in Myanmar.

I finally settled with the black market money dealers for a rate of 1,020 for one U.S dollar for my $100 worth of small bills. The official government rate was 6.9 kyat for one U.S. dollar.

If dealing with money wasn’t already confusing, my first night in Myanmar at the White House hotel in Yangon made trying to figure out money even more difficult. I had the option of paying for my room with three FEC’s, three George Washingtons, or with three thousand kyat. When trying to buy a bus ticket to Inle lake, from the same hotel, the seeming parity between the three currencies disappeared. For the bus ticket, I could pay 6,100 kyat or six George Washingtons plus one hundred kyat, but I could not use FEC unless I first exchanged it. If I exchanged my FEC, the White House was willing to give me 820 Kyat for one FEC, even though one FEC is supposed to be worth one US dollar, which is really worth 1020 kyat but which no tourist is supposed to have anyways because nearly everyone has signed the ledger and has “no money.” I wonder what kind of rate the hotel would have given for my presidents and FEC if it was called the Department of the Treasurey instead of the White Ho! use.

Yoav Alfandari, 22, the Israeli who doesn’t celebrate Christmas, called Myanmar’s three currencies a “Catch 22.”

He complained after having tried to cash several travelers checks, “you are losing money all of the time. You are losing money on the black market. I changed travelers checks and they don’t give me dollars. They give me FEC and that cost me $2 to change the check. And then the FEC’s aren’t worth a dollar so I am going to lose more money.”

Perhaps Yoav and other travelers to Myanmar would be vindicated to learn of the American quarter I found in a silver shop in Inle Lake. The face of George Washington was worn. The quarter’s edges were smooth and the 1958 coin had lost its luster. This however did not stop the owner of the silver shop from trying to sell me the coin. When I asked the value the owner promptly stated the bargaining at 19,000 kyat. I countered with 5,000 kyat. He dropped the price immediately to 10,000 kyat and was still eager to haggle before I stopped playing with him. I told him the coin was probably not silver but nickel, worth about 250 kyat, twenty-five cents, and I couldn’t buy it anyway because I had “no money.”

Lacquerware

In Myanmar, formerly Burma, local artisans, near the ancient ruins of Bagan, still create lacquerware using virtually the same techniques their ancestors did in the 12th century.

Lacquerware is produced with the sap of the Melanorrhoea Usitata tree. When exposed to air the sap turns black and looks like tar. The gooey oozing substance takes on surprising beauty, however, after having been used to varnish bamboo vessels and teak tables. Dried, etched with a filigree of designs, and polished the bowls, teacups, trays, tables, and chairs become more than objects of everyday use but pieces of art.

Bagan was once the capital of a kingdom and the seat of royal grandeur. It is a marvel, with over 2,000 brick temples and pagodas still standing after 900 years of rain and sun. It was from one such brick pagoda, in 1991, the black crumbled remains of a black lacquerware bowl were recovered. It now rests behind plexiglas at Bagan’s Lacquerware museum.

U Thaung Naing a curator and researcher at the Bagan Lacquerware museum said lacquerware technology was most likely “brought to the area by the Shan and Mon in the 12th century.”

The royal palaces and majesty of the once great kingdom are gone, but the area around Bagan remains the Lacquerware capital of Burma.

“Lacquer can coat any base; stone, plastic, metal,” said U Thaung Naing. Lacquer in Burma, however, is typically used to coat bamboo vessels, or objects from various soft woods or teak.

U Maung Maung, 49, has a robust figure. He has a round face, a large graying mustache, and wears a checkered longyi, a long skirt or kilt worn by men in Burma. He has been running his Ever Stand lacquerware workshop on the road between Nyaung-U and Bagan since 1990.

He employees seventy workers at his workshop, plus an additional ten workers at another workshop in Old Bagan. In the shade of tress, the workers sit or squat on sandy soil polishing, etching, smoothing, and shaping the bowls, cups, and plates which will become the finished product. It is an ornate, time consuming, and fascinating process.

“I have three families who supply the woven bamboo, about fifteen people.” said U Maung Maung as he displayed a pale yellow bamboo vessel, a large bowl, the size of a flower pot, before its first coat of lacquer.

The vessels are constructed by hand weaving various sized coils or strips of bamboo. The lightest and most delicate of the vessels, used to make thimble like tea cups, are made using a flexible bamboo frame combined with woven horse hairs.

Coating the vessels is a lengthy process. “It dries only in an underground cellar. It takes more or less one week to dry for one layer,” said U Maung Maung.

If taking one week to dry was not enough to lengthen the process, U Maung Maung went on to explain how the inside and outside of a vessel could not be varnished simultaneously. “Each time you can touch one side only. After one side is dry you can paint the opposite side.”

After the initial coat of lacquer the bamboo vessel is plained and smoothed. Another coat of lacquer is then applied. With two coats of lacquer, however, the process is far from finished. The thin ribs of bamboo are still visible through the gloss of the lacquer. U Maung Maung said you, “Can still see the bamboo shape. We apply the putty process.”

A putty made of teak wood sawdust and lacquer resin or dried clay powder and lacquer resin is applied to fill out and smooth the vessel. Two to three layers of putty are required. One week per side is still required to dry the vessel.

Once the putty has dried and been sanded it looks as if had been covered with a coating of grayish cement. The final layers of pure black lacquer are applied. In total, as many as twelve layers of lacquer and lacquer putty may be required to complete a vessel from start to finish. The entire process can take between four to six months. This is without any designs.

“It can take four more months if you want a design,” remarked U Maung Maung

Without designs the plain black, orange, and vermilion vessels have a glossy shine. It is difficult to believe they are objects of bamboo and lacquer and not machine made plastic. Designs only add to and enhance their beauty.

Scenes from the Buddha’s past lives are often used on Burmese lacquerware. Traditional flower motifs and animals are also depicted. There are thinly traced yellow flowers with green stems on polished plates. Red and indigo blue elephants stride along the rims of teacups.

To create the ornate designs, the art work is first carefully etched by free hand, onto the piece of lacquerware, using a metal stylus. More lacquer, mixed with a dye for the desired color, is applied. Dyes include: sulfur for yellow, indigo for blue, and cinnabar for red.

U Maung Maung explained “We apply a lacquer resin on the whole design. We put it in for one week, in the cellar, and then the design is rubbed off with teak wood charcoal. The color remains only in the etching. Acacia resin (a special glue from the Acacia tree) is then put on to protect the color. Then we engrave a second time with more design.” The process is thus repeated with another color.

The lacquerware is finally polished three times first with teak wood charcoal, then with a fine ground powder from petrified wood, and lastly by the palm of the hand until it becomes squeaky and shines.

“Its really really beautiful,” said Doris Dober, from Dusseldorf Germany, on visiting U Maung Maung workshop. “I wish I could import it.”

“Its amazing they use the same methods they used 500 years ago,” said John Doyle from London.

Lacquerware is produced in several other countries, such as China, Japan, and Thailand. What sets Burma’s lacquerware apart from countries according to U Thaung Naing is “from first to last its handmade.” He also claimed Burmese designs and artwork were superior.

Much of the Lacquerware produced in Bagan is either sold to visiting tourists or exported. U Maung Maung for example exports his lacquerware products to Japan, several countries in Europe, and the United States. “Portugal, Austria. I have buyers all over the world.” said U Maung Maung

Watching a young woman stand over a black lacquered door and scratch the delicate outline of a Buddha with a metal stylus or seeing young men with wads of sand paper smoothing and polishing bowls, one can not help but be amazed by the number of steps and people involved in the lacquerware process. To the Western mind, there almost seems like there should be some tin shed hidden from view with a noisy generator and cantankerous greasy machine spitting out uniform lacquerware bowls and cups at a steady rate but there isn’t. The pace is slower in Burma. Every lacquerware pot and bowl is unique. Everyone is made by hand, just as it was when kings still ruled the land.

The Moustache Brothers

On January 7th, 1996 comedians Lu Zaw and Par Par Lay were arrested in Mandalay, for having made satirical jokes about the government.

Lu Zaw and Par Par Lay are members of the mustache brothers ah-nyeint troupe. They made their jokes on January 4th, while performing along with two dancers and four musicians, from their troupe, at the compound of noble peace prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi in Yangon. The performance was to celebrate the Burmese Independence day.

The troupe was hired by the National League for Democracy. The National league for Democracy, lead by Aung San Suu Kyi, won in a landslide, the countries last free elections in 1990, but was not allowed to take power by the military junta.

The now freed comedians still perform. More than 30 tourists gathered to see the mustache brothers and their ah-nyeint troupe on a cool winter eve. The ah-nyeint troupe performs a kind of vaudeville like theater, combining dancing, music, and humorous skits.

The performances are held every evening in the living room of the mustache brothers home. The brick floored living room is not much larger than a single car garage. The tourists sit on red plastic lawn chairs. Those who can not find seats sit Indian style on a tarp laid before the stage, which is only the size of a queen sized mattress. Ornately carved marinates with gold and sparkling costumes hang from one wall. On another wall hangs portraits and snapshots of Aung San Suu Kyi. Two car batteries, with large alligator clips and a confusion of wires, power the stage lights. The venue is cramped but cozy.

Before the show Par Par Lay, 55, and Lu Zaw, 51, greet tourists. Par Par Lay wears a white cotton shirt and a bright yellow jacket. His most telling feature is his large graying walrus like mustache. Lu Zaw is without a mustache. He smiles and grins comically as tourists vie to take the once imprisoned man’s photograph.

Both men refrain from much conversation, unable to speak much English, and let the third member of their comedy trio host the evening’s entertainment. Lu Maw, 53, is Par Par Lay’s brother and Lu Zaw’s cousin. Like his brother, he too sports a large walrus like mustache, which hangs to near his lips. With a large silver metal microphone, reminiscent of those used by big band crooners, he enthusiastically warms up the crowd.

“You know why we don’t have any problems with robbers here?” Lu Maw pauses to ask. “Because we’re always under surveillance.”

The crowd laughs. The real life story however behind the statement is far from funny.

Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw were arrested in the middle of the night by military intelligence officers three days after their performance in Yangon.

For two weeks the two comedians, along with the other performers present during the performance, were deprived of sleep and harshly interrogated. After two weeks all of the performers, except Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw, were released.

The comedians remained in Mandalay for two months while a series of mock trials were conducted. Finally, Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw, behind closed doors, were sentenced to seven years of hard labor.

Lu Maw who welcomes tourists into the mustache brothers’ home during the day, to talk about the plight of his family, remarked, “ I wanted to see my brother’s last trial. I lost my right. Behind the scenes they sentenced him to seven years. It was not justice. They pretend.”

The comedians were moved from Mandalay to the Kyein Kran Ka hard labor camp in the state of Kachin. They were put among convicted criminals. They ate boiled rice with a scant amount of vegetables and no meat. During the day they worked breaking rocks, to make gravel for government construction projects.

In part thanks to a letter writing campaign, sponsored by Amnesty International, the two comedians were moved to two separate ‘ordinary’ prisons after two months at Kyein Kran Ka.

With the help of international pressure and the support of comedians around the world, Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw were eventually freed on July 13th, 2001. The two men had been imprisoned for five years and seven months.

Lu Maw because he was not present at the 1996 performance said he was “off the hook.” While his brother and cousin were imprisoned Lu Maw kept, “the home fires burning,” by performing to tourists in the mustache brothers’ home.

With the arrival of Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw back to Mandalay, there was speculation as to weather or not the formally jailed comedians would perform again.

For eleven nights, after the two comedians had returned to Mandalay, the nightly performances for tourists were staked out by members of the military intelligence, who Lu Maw referred to as the “KGB.”

Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw were threatened not to perform by the district peace and development council chairman in Mandalay, but on July 26th, the twelfth night of their return to Mandalay, in front of a group of Italian and Spanish tourist they performed for the first time in over five years. They have been performing since.

Unfortunately the mustache brothers can no longer perform in front of their countrymen. “We’ve been blacklisted,” says Lu Maw. Where once the troupe traveled across the country to perform pwes, all night celebrations for marriages, baptisms, and festivals, the government now prohibits anyone from hiring them. The group now only performs for tourists.

The night’s performance was to give the tourists just a small taste of a pwe. More than half of the performance was dedicated to traditional stylized Burmese dances, performed to whining almost banshee like music, played by a boom box. Lu Maw’s wife, Ni Ni Lin with her face layered with makeup and wearing a beautiful glossy white silk like costume impressed everyone. With contorted wrists and elbows she followed predefined paths. She moved with rapidity, from kneeling to squatting back to kneeling, in a series of moves she had spent years studying as a young woman, to become trained as a classical dancer. The dance looked painful yet also incredibly graceful and elegant.

Between the dances Par Par Lay and Lu Zaw danced like Charlie Chaplin. They carried out silent buffoonish slap-stick like skits while Lu Maw continued with his wry jokes, spelling out the words he had difficulty pronouncing. The jokes were hit or miss. Some members of the audience, from France and Germany, not catching the English, sat with blank confused looks. The humor was not side splitting but worth a grin and an occasional guffaw.

Lu Maw did not refrain from lightly poking fun at the government. Talking about frequent power shortages in Mandalay he said “When the military general comes to Mandalay, lights on, go back to Yangon lights off.”

With the performance finished the tourists left. The chairs were stacked, the props stored, and the alligator clips powering the stage lights removed.

“We aren’t sure of our life. The government could arrest us at any time. We skate on thin ice.” said Lu Maw.

Lu Maw remained confident, however. “They know ( the government ) outside many pressure. We never stop. We perform every night. We’re never going back, we’ve burned the bridge already.”

Ballons over Bagan

The ancient city of Bagan, in Myanmar, looks ready made for the next set location for the sequel to Tomb Raider or a new installment of Indiana Jones. Strewn across a flat dry plain over 2,000 red brick temples and steeple like pagodas, some built as long as 900 years ago, reach for the ultramarine sky. Goats feed on dry brown grass between the temples, bullock carts carry hay down dusty roads, and with a virtual absence of power lines, it is not surprising at all to see seven hot air balloons floating above the mighty monuments of the ancient city!

Myanmar’s virtual absence of large power lines is just one reason why Uli Krahenbuhl from Bellemead, New Jersey enjoys piloting a 77,000 cubic foot hot air balloon over some of Myanmar’s most famous sites. Mr. Krahenbuhl pilots what is known as an experimental ballon, which can carry between two to three people on a flight for one and a half to two hours.

Mr. Krahenbuhl is part of a group of 36 friends, balloon pilots and their families, who traveled to see the marvels of Myanmar from a bird’s eye view. The group has 7 balloons and 8 pilots. Members of the group come from the United States, France, and Switzerland. It is the groups fifth trip to Myanmar since 1999, although it is just Mr. Krahenbuhl’s third.

The group had their balloons and equipment shipped to Myanmar by air freight. They then spent 15 days, just after Christmas, flying over the spectacular sights of Inle Lake with its floating villages, the city of Mandalay on the banks of the Ayeyarwaddy River, Monywa where few locals had ever seen a balloon before, and finally Bagan where a great royal city once flourished before the Mongol invasion of Burma in 1283 lead to its decline.

Mr. Krahenbuhl is a modern day Phileas Fogg who calls hot air ballooning his “passion.” Mr Krahenbuhl has a strong build and a thick Swiss accent. He beams with pride as he talks about his hobby.

Mr. Krahenbuhl sites the fantastic weather in Myanmar during the winter, with its near constant blue skies, spartan clouds, and predictably bright sunny days as one of the primary reasons for visiting Myanmar.

“Anything with a wind above 10 knots is a problem.” Mr. Krahenbuhl remarked. “Myanmar has clam winds and culturally is fascinating too.” He went on to say, “We always believe, in ballooning, that you meet the world through the back door, instead of through the front door.”

Mr. Krahenbuhl was traveling with his wife, Shirley, and two daughters, Colette and Suzy.

Colette Krahenbuhl said meeting the Burmese people, through the back door, after having landed in a dry rice paddy is something which happens often. “When you land sometimes hundreds of people will come to stand around to watch, mostly children.”

Colette went on to explain the people were always extremely friendly. When balloons landed in areas inaccessible for the trucks to carry the ballons out the locals were more than willing to help retrieve the balloons using ox carts.

Besides having ox cart retrievals, Mr. Krahenbuhl has had some other interesting landings, not necessarily possible back home.

“In Mandalay we needed rescue by boat. We were heavy on passengers but light on fuel. We wanted to cross the river but the wind died out.”

Mr Krahenbuhl had to land on a small a small tug boat in the middle of the Ayeyarwaddy River . The boat navigated beneath the balloon as it hovered above the water.

The group of balloonists take to the skies twice a day once at dawn and once at dusk.

Suzy Krahenbuhl called Bagan her favorite location to fly over because of its myriad of pagodas. It is understandable to see why.

As the morning sun rose over the 16 square miles of temples and pagodas the early dawn mist began to rise. The pink horizon faded as the bright blinding orange sun rose from behind a veil of black mountains. The brick temples, some as large as the state capital in Madison, others the size of quaint New England churches seem to glow in the pastel light.

The temples with their bulbous domes resembled mighty bells. They were built by ancient kings, when Bagan was great and wealthy, to increase the king’s merit and so in the Buddhist faith the kings could be reborn into the celestial realms. It is in those celestial realms, in the sky below the clouds, seven black balloons, silhouetted against the sun, hung as if to greet the new sun. It was a spectacular sight. One only wonders what the old kings would say.

Herbie the Love Bug

The Batmobile, The Dukes of Hazard’s General Lee, and Herbie the Love Bug are all cars of television and movie fame. Travelers may be shocked then to see a replica of Herbie the love bug , the car with a heart on a dusty tree lined road in of all places Myanmar, formerly Burma.

Herbie was featured in the 1969 Disney comedy film the “The Love Bug.” He was a comical 1963 Volkswagon Beetle with feelings, which could drive himself. The 1969 movie was extremely succesful and three additional Herbie sequels were also made by Disney.

U Soe Myint keeps his replica of the famous car parked at his restaurant, Mya Ya Da Na, on the road between Nyaung-U and Bagan in North central Myanamar. Red, white, and blue racing stripes run across the curved dome of the off white, almost baby blue, 1957 Volkswagen beetle. Herbie’s number 53 is painted in black and set in white circles on the hood the, the side of each door, and on the back of the car. The Volkswagen does not show a fleck of rust or a chip of paint. A black license plate, with Burmese script, hangs from the polished chrome bumper which gleams in the sun.

U Soe Myint is 55 with leaf brown skin and a strong build. He has a happy smile on his face as he talks about his Herbie replica, which he calls “Very good.”

U Soe Myint bought the Volkswagen Beetle in 1989 for a “cheap price, 200,000 kyat,” roughly $2,000. It was not until 1993, however, that he painted the Volkswagen to resemble Herbie.

The replica of Herbie is a draw for tourists who frequent the area around Bagan. Tourists come to view the nearly 2,000 brick temples and pagodas built close to 900 years ago when the town was a city of royal power.

U Soe Myint charges $50 a day for tourists to ride in the vechile. “Many tourists like this car.” he proudly boasts.

He estimates between ten to fifteen tourists come each year to rent his Herbie with most of the tourists coming form European countries. On average they rent the replica of Herbie for three to five days.

Herbie’s interior has worn black seats. The floor boards are plain without carpeting. They are coated with a thin layer of dust. Behind the white steering wheel the dash board holds the car’s only instrument,a speedometer.

Without a mileage indicator, U Soe Myint does not know how many miles are on he car. He estimates, however, it is “alot of miles.”

He recalled he drives the car two hundred miles round trip three or four time a year to the city of Mandalay, plus an additional twenty-to-thirty miles each day to run a second business he owns, selling and producing bricks.

There are more bicycles, horse carriages, and bullock’s carts in Myanmar than there are cars. Cars are rare, expensive, and prized possession. Many cars are kept running for decades. It is not uncommon, for example, to spot American Ford Willys, jeeps, left by the U.S. military after World War II still thundering down Myanmar’s potholed roads.

U Soe Myint is a lucky man. He also owns a World War II era jeep. He prefers to drive his Herbie, however, because of its superior gas mileage. U Soe Myint estimates his Volkswagen Beetle gets between thirty to thirty five miles to the gallon. Gas cost between $1.50 and $1.90 a gallon in a country where the majority of the population earns $300 or less a year.

The Volkswagen has its original engine which still putters and purrs like new. U Soe Myint changes the oil every month. He had the suspension repaired when he first bought the car, put new tires on two years ago, and had some minor engine work done last year but the car according to U Soe Myint still runs like a dream.

U Soe Myint claims to have the only the only Herbie replica in Myanmar. The car does not have a sunroof, nor does it have a set of California license plates, like the Herbie in the movies but to the untrained eye U soe Myint’s replica appears more than eager to come to life and drive down the dusty roads of Myanmar.

Index of Patrick’s Stories